


Robot

by aiwaguru



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit of healthy angst, Confessions, First Kiss, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiwaguru/pseuds/aiwaguru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has always thought Sherlock could be a robot. It is by trying to prove him human that he falls in love with him.<br/>And then, of course, he feels he needs to tell him before he finds out by deducing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robot

 

 

John has always thought Sherlock could be a robot.

Sociopath or not, it didn’t make sense that he could go on for that long without eating or sleeping.

It made him feel so old when he had to stop to take a breath during a chase, confused by hunger cramps and lack of sleep. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t him being old, it was just Sherlock being special.

Or a freak, if he had to use Sally’s words.

Sherlock didn’t seem to suffer for those mere mortal needs, he had no urges, he had no desires, but what was truly incomprehensible was the fact that his **body** had neither as well.

 

Or at least that is what he thought until that night of February when Sherlock laughed so hard at one of John’s jokes that he had tears in his eyes.

That didn’t feel like something a robot would do, or a sociopath nonetheless.

Because his eyes were sparkly and fond, and he was patting John’s thigh as if assuring him he had the best humour in the world.

John felt he really liked that reaction.

 

~~

 

The second hint came when he freaked out over Moriarty kidnapping John.

He would have expected him to analyse things coldly and find the best solution, whether it involved sacrificing John or not, it wasn't supposed to matter.

Instead he flailed and winced, and if John had to be sincere, he looked like he was about to faint any minute after all was over.

 

~~

 

Then there was that time Sherlock got angry for something beyond John’s understanding.

He went on and on about girls being fake and how sex was filthy, and all that John could think about was that he was probably envious of the action **he** wasn't getting.

 

~~

 

They were all little things really, that John started noticing, the way he looked at him when John brought him tea, the way he patted his back when he gave him an idea, the way he turned to wink at him whenever he entered the room (even when at reception with the Queen for God’s sake), and much much more.

It became a list in his head.

It was wondering why he had this list that he realized he was in love with Sherlock.

He reckoned he had pretty much dug his own grave there, obsessing about proving Sherlock human, trying to find everything that would somehow link them permanently.

So there he was, unable to get a date with anyone else and trying hard to keep his self-control in check.

 

“Do you think you can think a little less loudly?”

John jumped, he had been glaring at the back of Sherlock’s head for the best part of ten minutes. “Excuse me… what?”

“You are clearly preoccupied with something, it’s distracting me,” said Sherlock, closing the book he was consulting and looking up at him.

That was something that had started only recently, Sherlock would stop doing something and would talk to him, would look at him, concentrate on him only.

John had to wonder what he was seeing.

“Are you suggesting I talk to you about it?” asked John surprised, then shook his head, “’Cause no, thank you, I prefer not.”

“I don’t need you to tell me,” said Sherlock menacingly, pouting in concentration.

John’s eyes widened. Crap.

“You are… worried… about…” eyes raked over John’s body. “Something in this room.”

John swallowed hard, trying not to move a muscle, as if that would give him away.

“Something important.”

He blinked.

“Did your laptop get a virus or something?”

John laughed, relieved.

“It was not that?”

“No, Sherlock. By a long shot.”

“Odd, very odd.”

“Don’t try too hard.”

“I must be losing my touch.”

“No, you aren’t losing your touch. You are just clueless.”

“Excuse me? I am certainly not clueless!” he protested, quite offended by that.

He smiled, shaking his head. “Well then, it just means I know something you don’t.”

Sherlock frowned, he didn’t like that one bit.

Just like with the fortune cookies.

 

~~

 

"What happened to ... **that** girl with the white dog?" Asked Sherlock a few days later.

"You mean Mindy?" Replied the doctor, looking up from his laptop.

"No, Mindy didn't have a dog.."

"Then was it Mary? Mary may have owned a dog." He had to admit he confused them too.

"Yes, Mary! She was nice, what happened to that?"

John knew where this was going. Sherlock was still investigating.

"What always happens, it didn't work out," he tried hard to concentrate on his tea.

Sherlock frowned: "I would have thought she was different."

"Oh yeah, she sure was. It was when I went out with her that you had that tantrum... Just because she gave me some biscuits as a present."

"Ah... Right." Sherlock looked away.

"Did you fancy her?" John finally asked, because seriously, what had been that all about?

He figured, after Irene, Sherlock was going to find someone he liked eventually, so it wouldn't be that odd if it was sooner than he expected.

Sherlock looked at him strangely, but then seemed to be restraining himself, no doubt forming some plan of attack.

"I can give you her number. Unless you nicked it already."

"No worries." But he was still staring at John, which was making him feel more than uncomfortable.

He wondered how much time he had left.

Sherlock was bound to find out eventually, and then would everything change?

Would he feel **betrayed**?

He really didn't want Sherlock to doubt his honesty.

He **had** to be the one telling him.

He felt his heart clench in his chest at the mere idea, but now that it was in his head, he could not ignore it.

He had no idea when Sherlock would figure it out and he couldn’t bear the thought of him doubting his intentions.

Did he have to do it now though?

Just the thought was making his stomach shut down.

"Listen," he started, far from ready really, but he was good at improvising.

"I will get to it eventually,” muttered Sherlock, seemingly quite concentrated.

"Yeah, well, about that..."

"You have no secrets for me, John."

"Yeah, well, that's the point-"

Sherlock clapped his hands together, a shocked expression on his face. "Bloody hell, are you getting married?"

John raised his eyebrows in disbelief, what with the swearing? That wasn't Sherlock at all. "Maybe if you let me finish-"

"No, I do not wish to know!"

Why was he overreacting now?

"Damn you, Sherlock, shut up!"

The detective stopped talking, mouth agape, a bit like a fish really. He always got weird when John ordered him around.

"Listen, will you?"

"Fine," but he wasn't happy about it.

"I don't want you to think I keep things from you, or for you to feel betrayed if you figure it out on your own..."

Sherlock was frowning deeply by then, no doubt weighting possibilities.

"And I don't want you to think that I am doing things for you just to get something back..." He was uncharacteristically red.

The detective was all ears by then.

"I kind of, you know... Have a bit of a fancy... Towards you... Maybe."

The detective gaped. And then frowned: "Maybe?"

What a pathetic confession, seriously.

"Scratch the maybe..."

Sherlock stood up, then he sat down, then he stood up again.

_My God, I broke him…_

"I hope we can work with this, I mean, go past it, forget about it..." He tried to repair what could be repaired.

"Wait a second, you... You said you were straight… You dated women till a few weeks ago; there was no way I could have guessed that was what troubled you if I trusted your words..." he protested, making John roll his eyes, of course Sherlock was worried about not having guessed that.

"Life can be very ironic, right... I did believe what I said when I said it... I didn't mean to fall for you, that's for sure." He scoffed.

"Flattering John, thank you," was the cold reply.

"Well no one signs up for unrequited love willingly, I would think. As deserving as I think you are..." he muttered with an unwillingly sad smile.

"What do you mean unre- oh." His wonderful grey eyes were wide in realization.

John frowned, those ‘Oh's’ were always quite confusing.

Sherlock stood up again, fidgeting. "And you told me because...?"

"I didn't want you to think I wasn't loyal..."

"So not because you were wishing to... You know... Start a relationship."

John sighed. "It was just to be truthful Sherlock, you were prying, you would have deduced it eventually... I really don't want things to be awkward..."

Sherlock seemed to stop to think. It was the longest two minutes of John’s life. "This puts me in quite a predicament, John."

He looked up, panic rising in his throat: "I promise I will never burden you, Sherlock, please."

"That's not what I meant, John, I am surprised how quickly you expose your weaknesses just to be loyal, but I have to admit that it is flattering and well... Just adorable."

_Adorable?_

"Er... Thanks?"

"But as you requested, we should avoid things being awkward… and things ruining what we have now, because let's face it, it could be a long and fruitful collaboration." Of course Sherlock would find a way to make it sound void of all sorts of feelings.

John didn't know what to say to that, he was supposed to be relieved, but at the end of the line it still broke his heart.

He tried to see it rationally, as just another rejection to add to the list, he had had much worse, with fights and shouting, but still the grip at his heart wasn't loosening in any way.

He nodded eventually, pushing his hands in his pockets.

"That is, if it's really fine for you?" Sherlock added.

As if he had any choice! It was rather that or walking out of the detective's life.

"Of course it's fine. It's all fine."

Sherlock seemed disappointed, but then he was smiling tentatively: "Good night, then."

Just one last look, blue eyes were dark with hurt, before John could hide his gaze.

Sherlock seemed to be hesitant as he looked into them, fidgeting, but John saved them both from further embarrassment with a quick nod.

"Good night," he mumbled softly, and he left the room, feeling utterly miserable.

 

~~

 

Regardless of how hard they tried to act like nothing had happened, the next day was all sorts of awkward.

Not exactly how John had imagined it would go however.

In fact Sherlock was not avoiding him, he was actually always right behind him.

He stayed by his side and complimented his cause of death knowing skills during their crime scene investigation, he shut up Donovan even worse than usual because she commented on how John looked thoroughly miserable, and was constantly checking John was in his line of vision throughout the whole day.

 

When he offered to prepare tea that night, John decided he had had enough.

“Bloody hell, would you stop being creepy?”

Sherlock froze, looking at the kettle and then at John. “I do not think I am using it the wrong way, I assure you I have done this before in my life.”

“I am not talking about that…”

“Then what are you so worked up about? Because seriously, it’s slightly distressing when you yell at me.”

“You. You are _distressing_. You have been checking on me for the whole day, for God’s sake Sherlock, it’s heartbreak, I don’t have cancer! I am not going to drop dead!”

Sherlock frowned, not really looking straight at John. “I can’t really say I know what it feels like…”

“Lucky you,” muttered John angrily, stomping out of the room and towards his quarters.

Maybe he had done everything wrong, he couldn’t survive this if Sherlock insisted on being so… _considerate_.

He groaned when his phone beeped.

 

**Message sent 19:02**

_What have you done to my brother? MH_

 

John rolled his eyes, now it was his fault?

This was childish and ridiculous.

He threw the phone aside, he wasn’t even going to deign it of a reply.

He was the one suffering the worst heartache of his life, for God’s sake.

 

~~

 

When he woke up the next morning there was another message.

**Message sent 07:55**

_What do you usually like to do in your spare time? Except solving cases with S. MH_

 

John stared at the screen for long.

“Sherlock, is your brother gay?” he shouted finally, and something dropped in the living room.

He jumped out of the bed and quickly made his way over, Sherlock was rubbing his eyes and blinking at John from his position on the sofa, the yell had clearly just woke him up.

“I think your brother is coming on to me… is it possible?”

Sherlock looked at the phone in John’s hand, then at him. “I sincerely doubt it.”

He laughed. “I sure hope he isn’t.”

The detective had a half smile on his lips, apparently happy to see John laugh.

“Ok then,” he mumbled, bending to pick up the phone he had dropped and then standing up, “We should get going!”

John looked at him strangely. “Lestrade called you already?”

“What? No, no. It’s about yesterday, I think I want to talk to the father again.”

“Very well. I need to shower first though.” And then he noticed, Sherlock moving too slow to defy gravity.

He tripped on the blanket that had been wrapped around him and dove nose first towards the arm of the couch.

John was very quick in saving him, he had him in his arms and safe in a split second.

He had no idea how it happened.

“I might not be smart, but you can’t say I am not fast,” he joked, looking down at a strangely red Sherlock.

It was just weird to see him silent like that, since when did he stop talking his ears off?

The detective was staring at him, in a way that made his heart get stuck in his throat.

It was peculiar, and for a moment, as Sherlock moved to regain use of his own feet, he thought the detective was about to kiss him. But then limbs got in the way and they bumped foreheads painfully.

“Ouch… thank you Sherlock, now I know I am awake.”

Sherlock groaned. “Sorry.”

 

~~

 

John realized later that day that things weren’t so bad after all.

Yes, Sherlock was oddly present in his life, even more than before, which was not an easy task to face, but he did like the fact that he didn’t seem to want to run off any given moment like he used to do.

At least he knew he could protect him efficiently now.

He could still see him in all his glory when he closed cases.

He could still walk back home by his side.

He was still in his life.

He could still love him silently.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, but his feelings were his and his alone, and for today he was going to be content just looking at him, smiling smugly at him from the other side of the room as they apprehended a murderer.

 

~~

 

“Will you move, please?” John groaned, pushing Sherlock’s hips off him, it was a sort of stimulation he really didn’t need now.

“I am trying, John,” was the annoyed reply, as long limbs tried to squeeze past him.

“Ouchouchouch! Sherlock!” he shouted, his shoulder straining too much.

They were handcuffed together in a small basement broom closet already filled to the brim.

No phones, no way to get out.

John was starting to think there really was no justice in this world.

They were way too close, and staying as far as possible was making things very painful.

Quite the irony.

“Sorry.” He muttered, his free hand coming up to massage John’s shoulder in apology.

“Don’t,” he pleaded, it hurt whenever Sherlock touched him… but not physically.

Sherlock’s hand froze, and then retreated. “Lestrade will find us in 24 minutes, do not panic,” he said in a strangely cold tone.

John sighed, banging his head on the door. “I am not panicking…”

“Just a figure of speech. You don’t look very well,” he said matter of fact.

“It’s not a comfortable position.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you are very close.” He tried not to think about their sides attached to each other, the heat through their clothes.

“So are you, it’s inevitable,” he replied with an odd soft tone.

“I should be the one telling you not to panic, all considering,” he mumbled with a bitter laugh.

Sherlock scoffed at that. “You are unlikely to do anything that would hurt me in any possible way, we’ve established that already. Besides, I **trust** you, John.”

John felt his heart break once again at the words.

He was supposed to feel happy about something like this, instead it only made him feel miserable all over again.

Why was he craving so much for something he couldn’t have?

“I really do.”

John had to look up at the sound of Sherlock’s voice coming from so close, his face was incredibly near right then.

They stared into each other’s eyes and John felt his heart beat in his throat again.

What was happening?

“I feel like I did something very wrong,” whispered Sherlock, licking his lips very slowly. “I should have been honest…”

John had no idea what the detective was talking about, but he couldn’t really think straight, especially since Sherlock’s fingers had started playing with the hair at the back of his neck, making his skin break in goosebumps.

 

“Holmes! Watson!” Lestrade called from outside, making them pull away from each other so fast they bumped their heads in the clutter behind them and created such a ruckus they were soon discovered by a smirking Donovan.

John was starting to think he was going crazy and imagining things.

It was the only explanation possible.

 

~~

~~

 

**Message sent 19:21**

_I would appreciate it if you replied to my messages. MH_

 

John looked at his phone and sighed, Mycroft was starting to be a bit too annoying, always asking him the most random questions.

 

**Message sent 19:35**

_Contrary to beliefs I do have a life. John_

 

**Message sent 19:36**

_What are you doing in a wedding dress shop? MH_

Of course Mycroft would know.

 

**Message sent 19:45**

_Trying a tuxedo._

 

Not that it was any of Mycroft’s business, but he reckoned he could say that much.

He did not realize how wrong he was until he arrived home that night.

“You are late,” Sherlock snapped, looking up from his laptop, but still typing furiously on it.

“Sherlock, the keyboard didn’t do anything wrong, did it?” he muttered, shaking his head, they were going to need a new computer soon if things went on like that.

They?

Since when did they share computers anyway?

John couldn’t remember.

Sherlock scoffed, stopping abruptly and standing up. “So when were you expecting to tell me about **that**?” he asked, pointing at the bundle he was holding as he came in.

John realized it was him who did something wrong: “Er… now?”

“Oh, and let me guess, you want me to be your best man?” he asked, furious. He didn’t think he had ever heard Sherlock raise his voice so much.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“I didn’t think you were interested in attending, so I didn’t ask you.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and hurt splashed all over him so quickly John felt completely helpless.

“I didn’t think you cared,” he tried to justify his behaviour.

The detective seemed to be in shock.

“Sherlock… Harry is getting married again this Sunday,” he decided to point out, because he was rather sure by then that they really weren’t on the same page.

A blink, another one.

“Of course.”

John looked at him oddly. “Of course you knew that,” he pointed out.

“Of course,” repeated the detective, turning around and taking a step towards the window, he was shaking, but then he turned towards John again.

“I am interested in attending,” he muttered unexpectedly.

“Very well, you can be my plus one,” replied the doctor matter of fact, even though it still felt odd to say the least.

“Perfect,” nodded Sherlock, thoughtful.

John was frowning. “Sherlock… I do not plan to marry any time soon. I do not have anyone at the moment, you know that, right?”

The detective frowned, staring at something above his friend’s shoulder. “Good,” he said finally.

John shook his head, wondering what this was all about.

Sherlock had to be completely mad to think he would marry someone else after confessing his feelings to him only a month ago. And so suddenly nonetheless.

Time had flown, certainly, the pain was bearable now, but John didn’t think he would ever get over Sherlock.

No one was like Sherlock.

~~

John didn’t think he could survive the whole day pressed to Sherlock’s side. Not when the detective looked like that.

He was stunning in his tuxedo.

He felt like a midget in his uniform in comparison, he couldn’t believe Harry had talked him into it after all the trouble of getting his old tuxedo tailored.

No matter how much Harry messed with her life though, she would always be his sister, and he couldn’t say no to her.

Sherlock did not seem to want to leave his side either, he was perched against him and glaring at every one who dared venture close.

“You got quite the guard dog, John,” said his nephew at some point.

He smiled. “It’s my colleague, Sherlock Holmes… he doesn’t know anyone,” he tried to justify him.

Sherlock looked at the kid, then he decided he could shake his hand and introduce himself properly.

John relaxed a bit, leaving them to chat about boats as he hunted down some champagne. Of course Sherlock would go along with 14-years-olds more than with the adult world.

 

“John Watson, I did hear you received a medal for your service, I didn’t expect so many!” said a voice beside him as he was trying the cake.

He looked up to find Mark looking back at him, and he couldn’t help, but blush.

“Well, long time no see,” he commented, trying to be polite.

Mark was an old friend of Harry, a guy whom he snogged a couple of times when he was young and drunk, way before he even thought about joining the army.

Good times.

“It’s great to see you, John!” he exclaimed, shaking his hand, the doctor smiled tentatively at him.

“I am glad to see you here, I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to attend this one either,” he joked.

Mark laughed: “I have been back for a while actually, got a bit of an injury myself.”

“Can’t work over there if you are not at your top, I reckon.”

Mark had been a volunteer for the Red Cross for many years. It was oddly funny to think how serious he was now compared to how silly they used to be back then.

“Exactly, figured I’d better stay home and try to have a private life again.”

John scoffed at that. “Welcome to the club.”

“Harry always talks about you, you know. You are a doctor, back from the army, please tell me you are still single.”

“He is not,” exclaimed Sherlock, appearing at John’s side and making him jump.

Mark blinked, just as surprised. “Wow, that is quite the good timing.”

John wondered if he had heard correctly. “Er… this is Sherlock Holmes,” he introduced him.

The detective was smiling coldly as he leaned closer to shake Mark’s hand.

“I am John’s boyfriend,” he added, making the doctor realize he had _not_ heard wrong.

“ _Are you now_?” he exclaimed, feeling quite shell-shocked as he stared at him.

“Of course, of course, too good to be a bachelor for long!” Mark said amiably, and raised his glass.

John shook his head.  “You have no idea.”

 

~~

 

“Care to explain about your behaviour today?” he asked once they were back in their apartment.

Sherlock shrugged. “I do not like social gatherings.”

“That a good reason to act as if you were my boyfriend?” he asked, annoyed.

“Ah, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“I was wondering what it would feel like,” was the simple reply.

John fumed, an experiment! Of course it was an experiment! “Now all my relatives and old friends think we are a couple, Sherlock.”

“Is that very inconvenient for you?” he asked, taking off his coat, grey eyes moving on the other’s body for a long moment.

The doctor growled. “It’s not inconvenient! It’s just not the truth.”

Sherlock took in a deep breath. “You seem to be very concerned about truths and the sorts.”

That was quite cryptic, he decided, looking at Sherlock as if he had just arrived from Mars.

“I am,” he decided to reply, simply.

“So you would be quite upset if I told you I was not completely truthful to you,” he concluded, looking at his hands.

It was an oddly coy reaction for Sherlock.

“You have just lied to my whole family, is there anything worse?” he asked, feeling a bit scared about what was going to come up.

“I had my good reasons.”

John frowned. “For lying to my family?”

“No, not that…”

“Could you maybe explain Sherlock? You are being quite difficult.”

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “At the time I was just trying to be nice… you did ask me to not let things be awkward, and you seemed thoroughly worried about it, so I imagined, considering the situation, it would have been less awkward if nothing happened between us.”

John decided it was better to sit down.

“The truth is… I am a virgin,” he said, to which the doctor could only gape.

He didn’t seem to be very troubled by the disclosure though. “You can see now, that any tentative to start a relationship with me would be filled with awkward embarrassing moments, I was merely hoping to spare you of that.”

The doctor sat back, his head was swimming.

The detective took in another deep breath, looking at the fireplace with an insistence he could not understand. “I underestimated things unfortunately,” he confessed. “I realized I was in love with you on May 5th really, that time you made me laugh so hard I had tears in my eyes, but I was sure the possibility of being requited was not of this world as you professed yourself to be straight.”

John’s gaze saddened hearing that, how had he not noticed?

“But after knowing you felt the same, it was very hard to do anything at all… John… I do not know what is happening to me, I think about you all the time, I want… things… I have never wanted before… you are successfully driving me mad!” he exclaimed, pacing the room. “And the idea you could forget me… that your feelings might have been temporary… well… it is killing me… it’s like… I have this black hole in my chest… John, you have to tell me how to cure this!” he pleaded, stopping abruptly, finally looking at him.

John had never seen his eyes like that, and he couldn’t even be angry for the month he had spent pining for him, not when he knew what Sherlock had gone through.

“I know a cure,” he said, standing up.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” he pleaded, worrying his hands.

“It’s a bit cheesy…”

“I do not care.”

He took his hands, he caressed them, Sherlock looked at the motion with a fascination he had never seen on him.

“Should I close my eyes?” he asked, surely catching on, he was not stupid after all.

“Up to you.”

He didn’t, he looked at him, but John didn’t feel intimidated and let himself do what he had wanted for the last two months.

He kissed him.

He pressed their lips together and waited for Sherlock to part them softly.

His tongue slid through the barriers and explored the inside of the other’s mouth, poking the other pink muscle for a reaction that came rather slowly.

Hesitant, tentative, but it was a great first kiss, something he would always remember.

He pulled away with a grin, Sherlock was frowning at him.

“Bad?” he asked, it wouldn’t be so uncommon.

The detective blinked, then he shook his head. “No, not bad.”

“Good then?”

“Extraordinary, I would say. How do people get enough of it?”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” he joked, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck, pulling him down a bit.

“Do you think we can manage to survive the awkward parts and be together Sherlock?” he asked, their noses barely touching.

“There is no way I could ever deny you anything, John. Not if you keep kissing me,” he pointed out matter of fact. “I do want to be with you though… and I am very sorry I was not honest, I underestimated how much it would hurt…”

“As long as you don’t do it again…” he said, fingers in his black hair, they were softer than he imagined.

“Okay, anything, just kiss me, yes?” he requested.

“Spoiled brat,” but he complied nonetheless.

 

 

 


End file.
